


here's to the cold deep in my bones (trying to breathe)

by Nactmerrie



Category: Far Cry 4
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mentions of Murder, ajays on a journey of self reflection and it doesnt go well, hey you know who belongs in the trash, hint: its me, loss of self, more tags will be added as this is updated, sabals usual bullshit, spoilers for fc4, unrequited feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-03-27 17:32:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13885692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nactmerrie/pseuds/Nactmerrie
Summary: Ajay doesn't let anyone know where he's going when he moves to the house on the mountain.Doesn't tell anyone that he feels Yalung's song behind his eyes.Yet somehow.Someone finds him.





	1. Prologue: (the world is only white noise) frequencies that i cant understand

**Author's Note:**

> The whole fic title is from Keaton Henson's Epilogue cause I'm a sad bitch who listens to other sad bitches. jk Keaton Henson seems lovely and I hope he's having a good day. 
> 
> The prologue's title is from Burn It Down by Daughter.

When Ajay moved out of the Homestead he didn’t tell anyone, well, he tells Reggie and Yogi to see if they would have like to come with him. They didn’t.

They didn’t because they’re scared of him now, saw what he did and could continue to do, and distanced themselves.

Just like Ajay had distanced himself from everyone around him.

So, when he moved to the house on the mountain above a cave, a cave he dubbed _The Goat’s Lair_ , he didn’t tell anyone. He didn’t have anyone to tell. It's in the aftermath of Kyrat's freedom that he realizes that he never really had anyone.

He didn't tell the Golden Path or Sabal. For the barest moment, he had thought about telling Amita, who in her banishment to a Sherpa yak camp avoided him, and continues to, whenever he pops by, but he choose against it. She didn't want anything from him, not after he had pointed a gun at her. 

It’s not like he could go home to America, his passport's missing, lost in the halls of Pagan’s castle. For all he knew it was gone. So, he moved to the house on the mountain and makes it his own slowly but surely rebuilding most of it to fit his ultimately basic needs, which was just a shell of a kitchen at the end of the day. 

And in that house on that mountain Ajay could finally breathe again, his chest doesn’t tighten quite as much, and his lungs didn’t shrivel in need for air. No, up there he could breathe.  

Ajay didn’t feel Bhadra’s disappointment and depression or Sabal’s growing contentment and jealousy at him. It was suffocating him down at Jalendu Temple. The contempt and ever-growing tension like nicotine in his lungs, his lungs that were becoming thinner every day. 

He didn’t take much with him, not from the Homestead, only his belongings, the pipe Yogi and Reggie gifted him, and the thangka portraying the story of Kalinag. He tried to figure out and take things he thought that might have belonged to his mother, but he can’t remember. So, he didn’t take anything he didn’t earn himself, it's better that way. 

Instead, he starts over. He found wandering Sherpa and stores that won’t spread rumors to the Path, people who'll let him start over. 

He almost left his father’s journal for Sabal, but he decided against it, he'd let them keep their deluded vision of their founder. 

Small mercies. 

He’s sure the Golden Path would look for him, or maybe not, they did have their new King Sabal after all. They didn’t need the Son of Mohan anymore. God knows he didn’t want to be their Son of Mohan anymore. He had done so much under that title, so much to prove himself worthy, so much that he wasn’t sure that he could consider himself a Son of Ishwari anymore.

Sometimes, he’d find himself awake in dread buried under blankets and spend hours trying to get the blood of royal soldiers of his hands. Freezing cold water would meet freezing cold mountain air shocking him awake and reminding him that it was done and that while his hands weren’t clean, he didn't do that any more. Those were the same nights he’d hear that damn humming echoing in his ears. There were nights that he swore he could feel someone pressing a mask to his face suffocating him. He never believed in God or Gods plural before, but Kyrat had done something to him.

He wasn’t sure if he was hearing Yalung or searching for Kyra.

_The truth is that Kyrat was always going to change you._

Maybe both.

Sometimes he would decide to plunge himself under water, the thing he hates and fears most, and sometimes when he did he swears he heard a woman singing. He remembers the first time he had done it, when he found the Tarun Matara's Rest and barely made it back to the surface. 

Other nights he dreams he’s Kalinag in Shangri-La, forever protecting what needed to learn to protect itself. Those dreams always ended… With him being stabbed to death by himself. The same way he distinctly remembered killing Kali- no, Yuma. Stabbing and stabbing, screaming for someone to get him out of there.

Only to wander out himself, different, glad he had finished the Thangka, too afraid to dive back into Shangri-La after watching his own hands kill his ancestor. Too scared of losing himself like Barclay. He knew how easy it'd be to let go like that, he had already done it once, Yuma's blood stained into his jacket a constant reminder of his wavering self control. 

Ajay knew these dreams are more along the lines of panic attacks, so he uses the pipe.

_Because winners don’t do drugs, isn’t that right, Ajay?_

He still wandered around Kyrat most days, finding more of his father and mother, more of Yalung and Kyra each time.

He wasn’t sure when he started comparing his parents to the two gods, but he knew Sabal would see it as blasphemy.

Sabal.

Most of all Ajay moved to get away from Sabal.

The growing rift between them, Sabal, the new “king,” though he’d never admit to such a thing, and Ajay the true face of the Golden Path. Some wanted the Son of Mohan to lead, but many saw Ajay as a lapdog to Sabal. He didn't disagree with the sentiment. 

Sabal who didn’t call him by his name anymore.

Sabal who wouldn’t look him in the eyes.

Sabal who refused to greet him.

It had gotten so bad that eventually, after months, Ajay had exploded unexpectedly, “Do you even remember my name, Sabal?”

He had been so angry, how had they gotten to this point he had wondered? What had he done to make Sabal avoid even looking at him? Did the weight of his deeds, of his choices, lay heavy on the elephant's shoulders? He wondered if Sabal felt guilty for making Ajay into monster, if maybe that was the reason he wouldn't look at him. 

He had done everything the man had asked of him, hadn’t questioned it, hadn’t even really humored Amita’s ideas, yet now he was the one being treated as a black sheep.

The older man hadn’t answered or if he did Ajay didn’t hear it. He had left as soon as he could, unable to control the shame building across his face in color, eyebrows furrowing, and his fingers twitching. He hadn’t meant to show that side of him, petty and angry, ashamed and sad, things he wasn’t supposed to be.

He was supposed to be the strong and silent Son of Mohan. Just accept whatever mission was thrown his way and do it without question, it had been so easy for him to do before walking into the room that held his sister's ashes. 

He nearly started crying into the pages of his father’s journal pages that night, the same night he decides he can’t stay in the Homestead any longer, thought about burning it and all the bad memories in it to the ground. 

Instead, he decided that Sabal and the Golden Path could fucking keep it.

He didn’t want it.

He made sure to leave no traces of himself, except with the people he trusted most, which was a short list of people.

Hurk and Rabi.

Two names, two people, who continued to help him and reach out to him via private radio. Voices that wanted to know he was okay, but never pried enough to know if he actually was or not. Hurk would ask him to go hunting and Rabi... 

Rabi continues to let everyone know who actually freed Kyrat even at the risk of his own life. Every time Ajay would reach out to make sure Rabi was still okay, that no one had tried to attack him, and every time Rabi would laugh him off and deter the conversation. 

They wanted to see him and they asked to see him. 

But the fact remained that no one knew where he was and he wanted to keep it that way. Considering the next time people would see him, he was hoping he would be dead.

Which is why finding a passed out Paul ‘De Pleur’ Harmon on his doorstep to his house on the mountain was surprising.


	2. Chapter 1: swept away by sin (as dark comes the night)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title is from Koda's Staying

Ajay clearly remembered driving him to the airport and making him leave Kyrat. Gently moving his fingers out of the way when slamming the trunk door shut, driving around Golden Path members as to avoid letting the man get taken. At the time, from all the information he had gathered about De Pleur, he figured sending him back to America was some simple mercy. 

Maybe now he saw it as too much of a mercy and wished he had done the same for himself.

It wasn’t Ajay ignoring De Pleur sins, the man had owned Kyrati slaves and had been running a torture ring, but when Ajay compared it to everything else had had seen happen, it honestly didn’t seem nearly as bad. It was still bad, but, Ajay had learned to pick and choose his battles on morality in Kyrat. 

So, when he finds Paul on his doorstep, ragged and passed out, he considered leaving him or rolling him down the mountain. Logically, he should just shoot him in the head and be done with it. Crouching down, he pressed his gun carefully against De Pleur’s head, trying to see if it would prompt him to actually shoot. Instead, he puts his gun back where in its holster and he dragged the older man in, curious and in need of explanation.

Maybe he was a bit lonely too and desperate enough to keep a monster like Paul around for kicks.

Maybe it was fate that the older man appeared on the day Ajay had been trying to decide whether to end his own life or not, so he wouldn’t have to live with himself any longer.

He didn’t think about it for too long.

Instead, he tried to contact Pagan or at least tried find a way to contact him.  

No one, not even left over Royal Soldiers, captured and interrogated quickly, have a way to reach the former tyrant. For a moment, Ajay almost mourned the closest thing to a parental figure he had since he'd come to Kyrat, but he doesn’t. He didn’t have time for that, not now.  

He hadn’t mourned his mother, so why would he mourn Pagan who was still alive?  

Ajay considered reaching out to his friends, but he didn’t want them involved if things get ugly, so he puts the radio somewhere De Pleur wouldn’t find it. It’s the same place he’d put the kukri he used for every mission the Golden Path had sent him on, swapping the two items he felt a heaviness fill him.

He’s distracted when the man wakes up, cooking a simple meal taught to him by his mother years ago. The recipe like a mantra, his fingers moved almost as carefully as they did when he held a gun. The kukri pulled from its hiding place was now resting next to his cutting board. 

“Didn’t think I’d be graced with the presence of Pagan’s pretty heir ever again.”

That.

He hadn’t been expecting that.

His right hand clutches the kukri reflexively, ready to sink it deep into the man’s tired flesh. Whatever the man was up to... Ajay was prepared to meet it with murder. 

“Now, hold on Ghale,” De Pleur started.

“Why should I?” Ajay finished. He didn’t have time to play games, he's tired and irritated that he even has to put up with this. 

“Cause I was asking, not telling you?”

That stopped Ajay, when was the last time someone had asked him, his index finger twitches just slightly. “I sent you back to America, what’re you doing back here?” Play the interrogator, Ajay thought to himself, you can do this, it's only a little bit of talking. 

“What was I going to do in America? Be with my whore wife? Live a normal life after being here for the last however many fucking years of my life?”

Instead of speaking he gave a pointed look that screamed, _Oh, I don’t know De Pleur, maybe, confess your crimes and go to jail?_ It seemed simple enough to him, given the option he'd do the same thing.   

“You really think the American government gives a fuck about a shithole like Kyrat? No one would even talk to me about Kyrat.” He sounded… Put off by the fact, like he had actually tried to tell someone. “To them I’m just a desk jockey fuck who’s making up another war for them to fight.”

Ajay knew they didn’t care, hell, he was still surprised he had been able to cross the border with all how cagey everyone had been about Kyrat in the first place.

“See you can’t even pretend. Just because you freed the country doesn’t mean it’s become anything other than a shiny steaming pile of shit. Not much better than it was before, but hey, at least it shines in the sunlight.” 

His index finger twitches against the blade again. Who the hell did this guy think he was?

“What? You’re just gonna kill me without getting an actual explanation?”

“Well, what did you expect from me?” His eyebrow raises, he knew about the stories people threw around about him, how they painted him as a ruthless revolutionary who didn’t have time for mercy. _Who else pulls the trigger around here?_

“A whole hell of a lot more, considering you tore through my fortress like it was nothing and let me live despite everything.” There was a slight grin to his tone. “Which, I never thanked you for, still. Taking my fortress, though? That’s cold, man.”

Why had he let this maniac live again?

Oh, yeah, little mercies.

“Won’t be making that mistake again.” His index finger played along the edge of the kukri, not enough to cut his skin open, but enough to feel the sharpness.

“Then answer me this, Ajay. Why did you let me live in the first place? And why haven’t you stabbed me yet, you sure look ready to.” It was a fair amount of questions, “Usually the Golden Path doesn’t show mercy, but then again… I swore I saw the other head of the Path running a Yak camp while I was making my way here. So that must mean, something happened and you're both running.”

Ajay felt like he had been struck, “I thought, you'd feel bad. And I want answers first, killing you second.” He wasn’t used to speaking this much, his mouth felt like cotton was forced between his gums. Why was this so hard, why was dealing with Pagan's generals always so damn difficult. 

De Pleur flashed a smile, “Unfortunately, bad people like me don’t really regret things.” He was really trying to play up the bad guy shtick.

“Then why did you come back here? I let you go,” He could play the fucking cryptic game as much as Paul Harmon. “Didn’t you get the memo, you lost, Pagan isn’t sitting on the throne anymore.” He had let the man go free and here he was being threatened by Ajay all over again. 

The older man was quiet. “Yet, no one else has taken it.” He paled slightly as Ajay gripped the knife tighter than before, “Alright! I’ll leave, Christ, you know you and Pagan both get this look when you’re pissed. Anyway, maybe I should stick around North Kyrat considering the Golden Path is running the place now.” He almost seemed… No.  

He was avoiding the question.

“Seems to me, that you don’t want to run into them either. You have a falling out with them _Son of Mohan_?” The corners of De Pleur’s eyes wrinkled as he smiled cruelly. “Didn’t think I’d see the savior of Kyrat in the middle of nowhere. Thought you’d be the one they’d be crowning king next.”

Ajay rolled his shoulder, a certain heaviness similar to Pagan’s hand pushing on the muscles.

Now he was avoiding the question.

“Are you hungry?”

“Excuse me?”

Ajay scratched at the side of his face, “I’m not repeating myself.” It was amazing De Pleur had gotten him to talk this much. God, this was the worst.

“Paying for my silence with food? You’re only a few steps away from becoming the next King Min. You know that the first time he ever asked me to torture someone he paid me in Crab Rangoon. I had to torture at least fifty people before he even considered making me one of his generals.”

Ajay tried to fight a certain fondness for his… for Pagan, “Sounds like Min.” He shoveled even portions into two bowls before holding one out for the older man, he sometimes regrets not staying put in the castle that day. Maybe things would have been better for him if he had stayed still. 

“You know, you’re a lot quieter than I imagined.”

As Ajay sat, he looked quizzically at the older man, as if to ask what he meant.

“Ah, never mind.” Paul started eating, with surprising gusto.

It seemed that he hadn’t eaten in a while, not that Ajay was going to ask. He didn’t care that much, all that mattered was that the older man was quiet, and he could focus on the cold air around him.

Silently, the two men eat in that house on the mountain, and it gives Ajay time to think again.

What was he going to do about this? He scrapped his fork back and forth in the bowl, looking at De Pleur ever few seconds.

Should he just take him back to Sabal and the Path? Let them deal with a man who committed crimes against their people? It seemed to be the most logical choice. Though, Ajay could see certain media turning De Pleur into a martyr and Kyrat couldn’t take a hit like that right now. Not that people had access to Kyrat in the first place, but the minute they did they’d dig and find American corpses on Kyrati land. It would be devastating and Kyrat could not handle another war.

No, he didn't really have any options here. 

Then the older breaks that nearly meditational quiet.

“Uh, this is a reach is it okay if I stay here? I think I’d like to avoid the Golden Path just a little bit longer. Or, uh, you could point me in the direction of a place that isn’t infested with Path rats?” He seemed nervous, he knew what little power he had was long gone now. 

Yeah, me too, thought Ajay. He was surprised that De Pleur had the guts to ask to stay with him of all people, he was almost impressed. Instead of vocalizing it, he grunted and gave a short nod.

When in that strange dinner had he decided that hanging around a torturer/murderer was more palatable than being around people who seemed to adore him? Was he really that far gone in his grief that he had lost his sense of morality?

Probably.

“Don’t get too comfortable though.” He looked at the man, “You know what’ll happen if you fuck up.” The Goat was watching them after all, Ajay thought loudly to himself.  

“Uh, The Goat?”

Okay, maybe he had thought that out loud then.

Considering De Pleur was in America by the time the common people of Kyrat were finding out… Ajay doubted he’d know. It wasn’t like there was a way for him to find out either, news/propaganda was Pagan’s game. 

Which was perfect.

“Yeah, that’s definitely worse than death.” A glimmer of vile hatred welled up in Ajay. Not for Paul, no, for himself, because at the end of the day he wasn’t sure he could do that to this person. Sure, he thought Paul was a bad fucking guy, but even he couldn’t get himself to climb down there anymore. “Yalung calls through him.” He scrapped his fork against the bottom of his bowl again, for emphasis.

“Okay?” De Pleur looked hesitant at the mention of the Kyrati god, obviously recalling it from somewhere. “You, uh, Kyrati’s-”

Ajay scraps his fork against his bowl again, which stops the older man’s words instantly.

So, it was the right move, Ajay thought, and returned to his meal quietly.

This was not going to work.  

\--

Surprisingly, they had been able to live in relative peace together for nearly two months now, and Ajay found that he didn’t hate it like he thought he would.

And he hated himself a little more for it every day, because somewhere along the way he had started looking at Paul a little more and more. It wasn’t even quick glances, it was long ones when they ended up having to share bath water and he got to see all of the older man. It was cloudy ones when he’d wake up and swear he saw Paul humming some swing or jazz song under his breath. It was warm ones when Paul would tell him stories of his youth. It reminded him of everything he missed about home.  

If any of the Golden Path saw him like this with the “enemy” things would not be good.

They’d both be killed as traitors and heretics, as monsters. Which they were, admittedly, but Ajay at least wanted to die his way.   

“Seriously, you are so much quieter than I thought you were going to be. Especially since Pagan was so interested in you.” Paul hadn’t brought that up in a while. “I’m surprised. You’re just not what I expected at all.”

Ajay quirked an eyebrow up, like he did last time, “I just don’t have anything to say.” What had the other man expected? He had always, sort of, been like this. He just didn’t see the point in making a fuss or sharing opinions that no one other than himself cared about. Why make a big deal out of nothing?

Why fight people on how to pronounce his name, why explain to other kids that he doesn’t have a dad, why make a point out of letting people know that you do in fact speak English? Why tell people that you don’t want to help in a rebellion? It was easier to just deal with it by himself in the aftermath.

“No, what you mean to say is that you don’t like to complain. Even if something’s really bothering you. Which explains a lot of the whole Golden Path thing?” Paul sat crisscrossed on their shared floor. “What? Did no one ever teach you that it’s okay to share your feelings?”

Fighting a snort, “Mom and I didn’t talk about things. She didn’t say anything about what state Kyrat might be in before basically sending me off with nothing but her ashes.” His hands moved nonchalantly. It was weird to just say it out loud like that. Ajay wasn’t even sure if he had spoken to anyone about it since it happened. He wonders if she knew what would happen to him here, if that made her less of a saint or more human in his eyes. “Sort of feels like she knew what would happen.”

Paul sat back, resting against the poor frame of the bed, “Hmm.”

“Hm?”

“Hmmmm.”

Ajay bit into his lip to fight off his laughter. No matter how hard he tried, there was something charming about Paul, something he couldn’t quite place. It didn’t help that Paul was the only other person he had interacted with in months. “And I’m the one bad at conversations?” For once, he was glad that his face tended to be a blank slate.  

Instead of speaking, Paul was staring at him like he had done something amazing and Ajay fought a curling feeling in his stomach. Why was the older man looking at him like that? Why was his stomach tightening at that expression? It was just like the one he felt when he used to look at… Sabal.

Oh no.

He didn’t like that feeling at all.

That was bad, very, very bad.

“Any… Anyway,” Ajay leaned back on his gloved hands, “What were you thinking of for dinner?” Avoid it, just avert the subject, and make it about simple mountain living, he angrily thought to himself. Don’t focus on the fact that you’re having feelings.

They had pretty much exhausted Ajay’s small collection of recipes and neither wanted to even attempt to go down to “normal” civilization. For a moment, Ajay was able to pretend that he hadn’t started feeling something.

“Hey, why do you always wear those gloves, even at night?” Paul leaned forward.

That shook Ajay, not just because it was out of nowhere, but because it was not a conversation he wanted to have. “Uh, why do you want to know?”

What the hell was Paul up to? Why did he change the subject?

“Cause you’re literally always wearing them? Even when you’re sleeping, which wouldn’t be weird if they weren’t obviously uncomfortable leather, also obviously old.” His eyebrows were furrowed, “What are your hands just really dry or something?”

“Well, we do live on the top of a mountain? You know, near the Himalayas?” He didn’t mean to have a shit-eating tone to his voice, but he did. “I’m from California and its, y’know, cold here.”

Paul’s lips pursed, and Ajay tried not to look at them too obviously, “Now, why don’t I believe that for a second?” He was challenging the younger man.

Ajay shrugged, “Cause you’re an untrusting asshole.”

“I’m wounded.” His worn hands went over his heart in mock hurt.

One of Ajay’s hands moved to wave in the air dismissively, but Paul grabbed it, softly in a way that Ajay almost wished he wasn’t wearing a glove, so he could feel the other man’s skin. To have kindness pressed somewhere that had only caused and been caused pain.

“Let’s have a look here.” The older man was pulling leather off the younger’s hand before Ajay could stop him. “You..?”

Ajay's hand wasn't bad to look at, not disgusting or anything, no, it was more that skin had been torn from his fingers. Like someone had been biting at his hands and pulling skin strand by strand, especially around his nails. Scabs rested between each of his knuckles, shaped just like human canines. 

Ajay ripped his hand back, fresh bite wounds hissing in the air. “I have a…” He didn’t know how to explain this.

“You look like you were mauled be a honey badger.”

“I’d be dead if I was mauled by one of those demons.” He took his glove back, slipping it on again, “No, this. This is all me.”

It seemed to dawn on the older man exactly what Ajay meant and Paul looked awkwardly at him, “Sorry, uh, maybe I shouldn’t have done that.” He laughed, even more awkwardly, like he was waiting for the other steel-toed boot to fall.

“Probably not.” But he honestly was more embarrassed than angry, it was sort of a shameful secret that redeveloped while his mother was going through treatment. It had started when he was in grade school and wasn’t quite able to handle or understand all the casual racism thrown his way. So, he ended up putting teeth to flesh and ripping until he bled everywhere and couldn’t think about anything but the dull pain in his fingers. But, “It’s… Been pretty bad since my Mom passed away.”

“Shit, sorry.” He looked sheepish in his response, then his shoulders rounded, “But, uh… Does this count as a fuck up?” All of this was highly uncharacteristic. 

Ajay blinked at him, confused, “What?”

“You said that if I fucked up, you’d put me somewhere with The Goat?” He seemed genuinely worried. “Never quite figured out what you meant by that, but I wasn’t looking to find out either.”

Oh.

He had forgotten about that he had threatened this man. All of this was just because Paul didn’t want to be killed and because he had nowhere else to go. Had Ajay actually thought for a moment that anything of this was real? This was all horribly forced and that whatever Ajay was trying not to feel was some sort of reverse Stockholm Syndrome, even if Paul was free to go whenever he wanted.  

God, he was so…

“Ah. No, don’t worry about it.” He didn’t care about that anymore, he didn’t care, he didn’t, he really didn’t, “Honestly, if you had fucked up, I think I would have just killed you.” What was the point when all of this was fake and forced.  

Paul smiled at him thankfully, “Okay.”

They sat quietly for a few moments after that, recollecting themselves, and Ajay considered what was going on with him.

He could pretend all he wanted, but he needed to actually think about this. 

Was he seriously beginning to see De Pleur… Romantically? No, the last person he had even considered romantically was Sabal, but that had ended… How it had ended, and Ajay was too smart to let himself repeat past mistakes.

Though this would be a completely different kind of mistake.

“You said you’re from California?”

Oh, thank god, a change in conversation, he internally sighed. 

“Uh, yeah! Los Angeles, actually.” He smiled slightly. He looked back and tried to remember how hard it had to have been for his mom now that he knew. How modern day L.A. was such a contrast to almost perpetually stuck in time Kyrat.

Paul hummed, “L.A. a trash hole in its own right.”

Ajay laughed gently, “Isn’t most of America shit?”

“Not Minneapolis,” Paul looked off dreamily, “Ah, I miss it.”

Ajay leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs, “Then… Why didn’t you stay when I sent you back?”

It was a serious question. Everything about Paul screamed American, minus the gun-ho overtly proud attitude, at least from what Ajay had seen. It was his looks to the songs he would sing that practically made Ajay swoon, it was all romantically American. Ajay was honestly still surprised that Paul had returned to Kyrat when he had been given the chance to basically redeem himself.

“Well, the only thing keeping me around was my daughter, but I’ve gotten used to Kyrat. And other things.” Paul picked at one of his nails. “Why are you still here? Other than the whole missing passport shit?”

“Uh…”

Because I wanted to know who my parents were, really were, Ajay thought. Not the father he always imagined or the mother who worked tirelessly to support him. No, he wanted to know Mohan, the leader of the Golden Path, and Ishwari, the Tarun Matara.

And he had learned more than enough about both.  

“I guess, uh, Kyrat’s grown on me too.” Changed me was probably a better way to word it. “I do miss a lot of things though.”

Paul laughed, “Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“Well, probably the fact that people aren’t looking to kill me around every corner. That and energy drinks.”

“God, you’re like a college kid,” Paul drawled. “Lemme guess, Red Bull and Rockstar were your poison.”

“Well, you’re an old man.”

“Hey! I’m not that old!”

Ajay snorted, “Seriously, if you don’t think of something for dinner, I’m either gonna have to go hunting or down to the nearest town.”

The older leaned back, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you want, darling.” He stood up, “Here, I’ll even help you this time.”

Ajay laughed again, “Well, I guess I can’t argue with free labor.” Not that he wasn’t making Paul work around the house all the time.

Paul didn’t respond, no, he was quiet before finding words buried in his gums, “You need to stop doing that.”

“Uh...?”

“Laughing and looking like that.” He looked at Ajay so sincerely before cornering him, carefully, which wasn’t hard to do with how small the house was, but both of his hands were up to show he meant no harm.

Ajay found himself crowded against the wall, his breath caught in his lungs, and his skin vibrating.

What the hell was happening?  

“Ghale, tell me something, are you..?”

Ajay cuts him off before he can continue, “I think… I should go… Uh, hunting!” His body is too warm and for the first time since coming here, he can’t breathe in his house on the mountain.

He leaves quickly, grabbing his kukri, a gun, and the pipe.

Why was he grabbing the pipe?

He asked himself over and over, even as he starts running down the mountain, leaving Paul alone.

Finally, finally, after finding a safe spot, he sat down, and lit the pipe.

The first hit stung like the needles Yogi and Reggie would put in him, the second hit smoother like the second time he had killed someone, and the third was like leaving for the house on the mountain.

The world spun as smoke filled his lungs and he forgot for merely a moment that he may have made some mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every day i fall a little further from grace.
> 
> also i have written ajay maybe twice and im sorry if its ooc, but im not all that sorry either. 
> 
> next time we get Sabal, Bhadra, and Ajay may finally come to terms with his weird Goat obsession. 
> 
> lemme know what ya though, via kudos, comments, the works.


	3. Chapter 2: (if you loved me) how'd you ever learn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Bloodstream by Ed Sheeran

Ajay couldn’t breathe.

He felt like he was suffocating under a familiar hand.

He couldn’t focus on anything but the hand either.

The hand was petting his hair, comforting but also possessive, and he leaned into it. He’s not quite sure where or how he had gotten here, but he could smell the candles and incense burning near him. He blinked himself awake as best as he could and looked up at Sabal with sleep heavy eyes.

The older man, was staring down at him, and leaning into his free hand with his mouth covered.

He ws at, or rather in, Jalendu Temple, it looked better than the last time he was here. Considering the last time he was actually inside the Temple he was being bombarded by Royal Soldiers and grenades. 

His eyes travel around quickly before falling back on the older.

The Golden Path’s been busy rebuilding, it would seem.

“Sabal?” His, well, everything, felt heavy and wrong. He saw the pipe out of the corner of his eye and groaned internally.

Of course, near the end, before the house on the mountain, Ajay would use the pipe to escape for a while. He hated using it, but after everything Reggie and Yogi hadn’t really interacted with him, so all he had was the old pipe. 

It never took long to affect him either, no, it hit fast and next thing he knew he was waking up somewhere. He remembered waking up under the spray of Yalung’s Tears or at the beginning of the bridge to North Kyrat. Always somewhere different each time he used it. A part of him wondered if the pipe was trying to lead him somewhere. 

“Are you feeling better, Brother?” Sabal was still looking down at him, his eyes softer than they had ever been, it reminded Ajay of the moment when they had first met. When Sabal had looked at him with wonder, like he was something to marvel at. Like he wasn't just a cheap replacement for Mohan. 

Ajay sat up, sliding away from the warm and comforting hand, “I… Shouldn’t be here.” He needed Sabal to stop looking at him like that. If he kept looking at him like that, he didn't know if he could go back up that mountain.   

“What do you mean? This was where you were always meant to be. You shouldn’t have left in the first place.” A sort of surprise laced the older man’s voice. “I think you’ve been away for long enough, what with your temper tantrum and all.” His tone ended with something that made Ajay’s stomach curl.

**Dismissive.**

“Really, Sabal?” Ajay couldn’t stop himself from revealing his own disbelief. “Is your head that far up Kyra’s ass?” He knew it was a low blow, but, fuck, he felt so angry and tired at being treated like a child. “Or did making becoming Kyrat’s new king make you a complete jackass," he muttered under his breath. 

Sabal looked taken back, and Ajay knew why. He had never spoken back to the older man before, always nodded and went along with the plan, and honestly Ajay wasn't sure where this was coming from either.

“Brother. You know that’s not what’s going on here.”

A poor way of saying, ‘No Ajay, I’m not a king,’ but Sabal’s lies had stopped working on Ajay a long time ago.

Ajay throws an arm over his eyes, trying to ignore the older and recollect his thoughts. How the held did he get here? What happened? “Just. Give me a second, okay?” He needed to think. His hand squeezed into a fist a few times as he tried to remember. 

_Ajay stumbled down the mountain, lungs getting heavier with every step. He wasn’t sure where he was going, all he knew was that the sticky icky feelings in his stomach, like melting sugar cubes, wouldn’t go away._

_He started humming that sound, that sound, that sound from below his house. It fit perfectly on the roof of his mouth, spreading to the back of his throat. It felt perfect as his tongue flattened in his mouth and his vocal cords vibrated lowly. Like it was made for him._

_The more he walked, the more he seemed to forget the people pointing and staring at him. He had forgotten for a moment who he was to these people. He just kept walking till he found himself across the way from Jalendu Temple._

_It looked like they had been fixing it._

_He wasn’t sure he really remembered what it used to look like._

_He stared at it for what felt like hours, that familiar hum resonating in his lungs, and eventually found himself surrounded by Golden Path members. He didn't remember them appearing at all, but here they were in a gust of smoke like the Rakshasa. The song was still on the roof of his mouth as Sabal stepped towards him, his eyes beginning to slide shut from the pleasurable dullness._

_“Brother, I- We thought we lost you.” The older man seemed to reach out for him, but stop short of his shoulder._

_Ajay swallowed, “But you didn’t!” He couldn’t fight the laugh, no giggle, on the edge of his tongue._

_Sabal seemed perplexed, worried even, but it didn’t stop him from asking, “Where were you?”_

_Ajay felt light and had thought sitting down would be a good idea, so he did, grass greeting his ungloved hands. When had he lost his gloves?_

_“Were you hiding from us, Brother?”_

_“Mhm,” He hummed and thought about the humming he had done with Paul earlier, his stomach twisting slightly and an even stupider smile had split across his face. “From you.”_

_Sabal feet moved as he seemed to startle, “From me?”_

_Ajay looked up at the older man and laughed._

_“Are you on drugs?”_

_He giggled, unable to contain the bubbles in his lungs, because yes. Yes, he was very much on drugs, and presses his knuckles to his mouth. He almost started to nibble on his skin, but stopped when he realized how well he could take air right then and there._

_“Helps me breath down here.”_

_Sabal crouched down next to him, “Brother, you know this isn’t the right choice.”_

_Ajay just giggled again and reached out to touch the older man’s hair, fingers twirling bits of the dark ponytail. His lips twitched slightly, “Did you miss me?” He wondered what he looked like to Sabal in that moment._

_Had he looked the picture of pathetic innocence, like he did when he first arrived, or if he just looked stupid. He hopeed he at least looked good, vindictively that he looked happy having lived a life without Sabal._

_“Fiercely so, Bro- Ajay.” Sabal pulled him into a tight embrace, but still somehow seemed to keep a physical, maybe emotional, distance from the younger._

_A shiver had run up Ajay’s spine when he heard his name on the older man’s lips. “Wow…” He almost didn’t recognize his own voice with how dreamy it had come off._

_“Ajay, come with us, I. We need to discuss your disappearance. Things have not been the same without you, Brother.”_

_Ajay nodded, almost sleepily, “Okay. Can’t stay long.” He was able to have enough common sense to not mention his unplanned roommate. “I have a curfew.” He started to break down into laughter, because he hadn’t followed a curfew in nearly ten years._

_Sabal helped him up and he had let his hands linger, like he used to when they first met. For a moment, Ajay forgot that he’s done nothing but suffer because of Sabal. Following behind, smiling distantly at nothing, and for a moment he wondered if Paul’s okay._

_He hoped so, he hopes so._

_Before he knew it, they were in a room, where incense was clogging his nostrils and his body felt cramped inside and out. His skin was ready to break under the air._

_“Where have you been, Brother? We’ve been missing our savior.” Sabal sat down on a chair near the bed, patting it for Ajay to lay on, which he did._

_Ajay hummed, “Mountain.” It was a good enough answer in his book now as he sank into the cot. “Sabal?”_

_“Yes, Ajay?” The older seemed genuinely invested._

_“I missed you.” His eyes closed as he snuggled against the pillow, his muscles relaxed under the warmth of the smoke inside his belly and the soothing smells flying around him. He almost swore that he started sinking into Shangri-La with how at ease he was._

God, how could he have been so stupid? He had just let himself walk right back into the Golden Path’s hands. He started picking around his fingernails in frustration and sighed when he found no relief in the action.

A hand touched at his head again and it felt revolting rather than comforting this time. “Ajay, now is not the time to be acting childish.” The older man’s voice was still so fucking dismissive.  

God, he was really fucking tired of being called that.

He just wanted to go back to his home on the mountain, his home with Paul.  

He wanted to be with Paul.

“Stop touching me, Sabal. I’m leaving.”

The touch on his head turned into a harsh grip, the older’s other hand pressing down on his chest to keep him in place. He was mildly surprised, Sabal was mad at him, but he really didn’t care at the same time.

Sabal leaned towards him again, “You want me to stop, Brother?” He sneered, “No, I will not. Not when I didn’t stop your childish concerns and not when I’ve let you frolic away from everything I worked for!”

It felt like venom dripping onto his ribs as Sabal hissed, in an almost numb tone, at him.

Ajay couldn’t help himself, whatever had caused him to finally find a backbone, he thanked it. “You didn’t do anything! And everyone knows it!” Did Sabal ever stop and think that it was his fault that Ajay had left? It was you who pushed me away, Ajay thought, you who forced an image of another man onto my flesh. You only wanted _Mohan_. “I was only an attack dog for you to order around, wasn’t I?”

A hand comes down around his throat and his tongue catches between his teeth, blood bursting under them. He’s pushed back against the bad, hair getting mussed up in the blankets, and he instinctively grabs at the hand.

Ajay involuntarily kicks his leg out to try and force Sabal off. He should have sat up and should have started leaving earlier instead of letting himself get comfortable. But he was stupid, he was stupid, and he had let himself fall into a lull around the older man.

“You think I didn’t want you around, brother?” The older man was seething, “But I had a higher calling to attend to. And you, you Ajay, you helped me achieve that calling.”

So, at the end of the day I was right, Ajay thought, all I was to him was a glorified step to the throne.

Ajay felt that grip on his throat lessen, just enough for him to gasp in air, his head swimming as he struggled. The hand stayed against his neck, thumb tracing along his Adam’s apple, and he rasped out a whine.

“You never thought for a second that I might be using you? That I didn’t notice how you looked at me? Oh Ajay, you must be more a fool than I thought. Or maybe you’re just a useless bitch like your mother.”

“And you’re just as much of a bastard as my father.” Ajay spit blood onto the older man’s cheek as he barely got the words out. Finally, he was able to get enough leverage to roll the two of them, getting himself on top and pulling away. He hissed, “You and the Golden Path can go fuck yourselves. Pagan was right.”

Sabal didn’t say anything, stayed perfectly still, a certain fear in his eyes.

And it’s similar, too similar to how the royal soldiers had started looking at him towards the end of the Golden Path’s rampage. Like at any second Ajay would kill him just for breathing.

Never again. “You and the Golden Path need to stop looking for me.”

Sabal makes a noise, pained, “Brother, I’m sorry.” But its fake, it’s so so so _fake_.

Ajay sighs, hands becoming fists, “Yeah? Well, so am I, I guess.”

That wasn’t how he wanted it to go. He had wanted to leave it all behind him when he first left, wanted his last words to stick with Sabal forever, but now all that was between them were half-assed apologies that neither of them meant.

Ajay wanted to cry.

Wandering out, he spotted Bhad- no, the Tarun Matara, and moved faster. As fast as his drug heavy and now air deprived body would carry him. He needed to get to a boat and get the hell out of here before anyone else stopped him. He just wanted to go home.  

Except, he could see her watching him, and he felt it down his back as he tried to find a way out. He was only good at running away nowadays. He was running from the Golden Path, from his parent’s legacy, from Sabal, from Paul, and now from her.

She sat up and called for him, her voice nearly unfamiliar to his ears.

He stopped his confident stride to a timid crawl, and looked over at her, his heart breaking as he did. He had never wanted this for her, but what other choice did he have? He wasn’t sure what Amita would have done in Sabal’s shoes and that scared him more than the older man making a 14-year-old girl into a goddess. At least Sabal was predictable, Amita? No, she was too much like Pagan in a certain ideology.

“Ajay, I never thought I’d see you again.” She seemed… So much sadder than he remembered. Though, to be honest, Ajay isn’t sure he’d ever seen Bhadra truly happy. Her entire life was a war torn country and a mountain of bodies made up her childhood.

He didn’t know what to say, he had never planned on coming back here, never planned out a goodbye for her.

She didn’t seem to know what to say either.

He shrugged, aimlessly, “I’m- I’m sorry, Bhadra. I’m not, uh, sticking around.”

She nodded, tired in the way that seemed to shake her whole body, “I wish you’d stay.”

Ajay laughed, bitterly, sadly to himself, “Yeah, well. Seems everyone else does too.” He hoped it didn’t come off as snippy or rude, but God, he was so tired of being here surrounded by people who just wanted more and more from him. All he had anymore was himself and lotus shaped memories that were soaked red.

Bhadra sat back in her seat, “They. Sabal, he killed the last of Amita’s followers. At least, that’s what I hope.” She was fishing for conversation to make him stay. “I don’t want any more people being killed in my name.”

Well, who would want that, Ajay wondered to himself. His eyes fell to the grass, she’s tired of being revered and he almost wanted to ask her if she was happy. He already knew that answer. It made his heart ache, because he knew he’d answer the same if prompted.  

“I’m sorry.” He was. He really was. If there was one thing Ajay wanted more than to go home, it was that he didn’t want anyone else to die because of them and this damn war. “Who knows? Maybe he’ll be coming after me next.” There was never going to be a peaceful compromise in Kyrat and they both knew that.

“I wouldn’t let him.” She seemed to become regal and he wondered if his mother looked like that when she was first crowned Tarun Matara. “Ajay, I wouldn’t.” She’s stern, forced maturity ringing in her voice loud enough for a few stray Golden Path members to looked over at the two of them.

“Bhadra, I’m sorry, that was…” Out of line, too far, he wasn’t used to talking to people who weren’t Paul anymore. He hadn’t meant it seriously.  

Except part of him had.

Ajay knew it would get to a point, just like it did with Amita, where there would be questions. Enough people knew who really freed Kyrat. The thought made him start picking at his knuckles, because he knew, he knew, he knew that despite whatever had been between him and Sabal… It wouldn’t matter when Sabal would end up pointing a gun at his head. Just by being here, Ajay was putting his life at risk, he felt the questioning eyes staring at him as he spoke with Bhadra.

One wrong thing said by him or to him was a possible bullet in his temple. Surprisingly, he wasn't even worried about it, part of him had accepted this path.   

He needed to leave.

“I… I gotta go, Bhadra, I’m sorry.”

Please, I’m sorry, but I can’t stay here, he thinks to himself, pleading silently to someone, the longer I stay the more afraid I am that I won’t be able to leave.

“Okay, Ajay.” She looked down and then back up at him. Her back went straight as she sat up, distancing herself emotionally, “You… You will always have a place with the Golden Path, should you choose so… Ajay Ghale.” She was the Tarun Matara again, not Bhadra.

He sighed, his mouth tight as he nodded, he knew that wasn’t true. So, he turned and left, with the help of several Path members.

None of them spoke to him, what was there to say, instead they spoke with one another.

He was glad they didn’t speak with him, he was too stuck on his thoughts of Sabal and Bhadra. He was pretty sure, hopeful even, that he would never see them again. Was it sad? Yes, but he wasn’t who they needed or wanted anymore, he’s not sure he ever was that person.

He chose to stop thinking about that, instead he let his thoughts flutter back to Paul.

Maybe he could convince Paul to leave Kyrat with him, or would that be bad considering Paul was... A married man.

Or maybe they could move beyond the mountain, maybe to Pagan’s now abandoned castle. Though, right now he felt more concerned about the fact that he had left the older man alone for who knows how long. They needed to talk, and Ajay felt that maybe he could actually do it with whatever new found confidence that had struck him in his argument with Sabal.

Ajay’s thoughts are interrupted as he heard humming and his head whipped around.

The Goat?

No, it was just a song on the radio, not Rabi’s show, no it’s something else.

Ajay still felt shaken to his core. It had sounded so much like the Goat’s song and he felt sick to his stomach.

He wanted to be back on his mountain.

He wanted his house.

He wanted Paul and the older man’s songs. Ajay’s breath hitched, “Hey, can we make this thing go any faster?” He didn’t really look over at them, instead he leaned over the side of the boat to spit what felt like acid from his mouth.

One of the Path members gives him a short nod and suddenly, Ajay regretted asking, he felt even more sick than before as they whip past land on the water, but before he could really let the regret settle in, the boat bounced on the ground.

Struggling to his feet, Ajay stumbled onto land, and let himself spit up more sticky saliva. He couldn’t really hear anything other than his pounding chest and the fucking humming. Carefully, he fell to his knees, and just breathed. It was heavy and not quite right, it felt like something was fighting its way up his throat.

“Okay… Okay… Thanks.” He turned his head slightly, just to give gratitude before standing again on shaky legs. “I’m gonna go now. Good luck with whatever.” He waved halfheartedly.

“Son of Mohan wait!” Alarmed or rather worried. “Is there anything we can do to get you to stay?”

Why.

Why did everyone want him around?

“You seem to be doing fine without me.” He leaned just enough to press his hands, opened palmed to his thighs and take in the unforgiving air.

“Sabal has been… Nothing’s quite been the same since you left.”

He knew that voice and thought back to where he knew it from. Oh, it was one of the many times he had stopped to help with a car, usually finding the same three people. Looking at them, really looking, he realized that they are those same three people. “What do you mean?” They should have been prospering, wasn’t everything he had done supposed to have helped them?

The woman, he can’t remember her name, spoke, “We’ve spent so much time and resources finding Amita’s people…”

Ajay nodded, “That you’re worried Sabal’s lost focus.” He sighed then, “I… I get it, but I’m not part of this anymore.” I was never really a part of it. He hated that he’s had to spell this out three times in one day, hadn’t he done enough? “I’m sorry, but, it’s all up to you guys now.”

They seemed crestfallen, tired of following a madman in the making, and he knew that feeling well.

He just sighed and thought, I don’t want to fight another war just because this didn’t end the way you wanted it, he felt sad, no angry, no… bitter.

He started walking, ignoring the fact that it was rude, that his mother might’ve been disappointed in him. He should have cared, but the humming was ringing in his ears, it had been since he woke up in the temple, growing louder, he had just ignored it.

And he was going to continue ignoring it.

Right now, he was more concerned about getting home, and his eyes drifted around.

Wait, where was he?

That... wasn't good.

He couldn’t really remember how he had even gotten to Jalendu or the last time he had gone down the mountain. Ajay sighed, “Of course, I save the fucking country and I can’t remember how to even get back to my own house.”

Taking another step forward, he noticed that the humming, the song, was louder in a specific direction.

Maybe that was a good sign?

Slowly, he started following the song, even as it became unbearably loud. His head pounded horribly, worse than when he had to fight the Rakshasa drugged, worse than fighting Yuma, worse than having to choose between killing Amita or letting her live.

This was probably actually a bad idea.

Still, what other choice did he have?

It wasn’t like he could just stop and ask a Path member or whatever was left of Pagan’s guard. Well, he could, but that was another pile of shit he didn't want to deal with. No, he was gonna have to follow whatever had compelled the Goat. Whatever was compelling him now, hopefully, it wasn’t actually Yalung.

Cause that’d just be the topper on the whole “My life is completely fucked” cake that Ajay had been eating for the past year since he had gotten stuck in Kyrat. With his luck, maybe the Goat was still alive, and he was going to be murdered.

That would suck.

Considering he was willing to admit now that he maybe, sort of, definitely had something resembling romantic feelings for Paul.

At least this time, he actually wanted to let that person know.

The problem now was... Did he deserve the chance to do it?

He had done a lot of bad things in his life, all he had ever done was disappoint his mother and everyone else around him. Narrowly avoided jail and now he probably wouldn’t even be able to go home, would be considered a war criminal and tried for crimes he didn’t really have a choice in. One deep look into his past and they’d see that technically Ajay had ties to not only Mohan, a political terrorist, but also Pagan Min, a dictator in the lightest of terms.

He had murdered people, many in self-defense, but there were all the propaganda missions he had done for Rabi, all the outposts he had taken, and the list would only get longer. He hadn’t wanted to kill anyone, but he did. The Path needed him to and he, at the end of the day, was just a different Mohan claiming to be someone entirely else.

Maybe, it would be better if he had just…

He stopped and stared at his feet, the familiar grass of his mountains gently touching his boots, and he felt air refill his lungs. Snapping his head up, he looked and saw the lights on in his house, where Paul was, and his heart felt full.

He wanted to go, oh God, oh Kyra, he wanted to. To go in and have Paul sing to him, to pull him into a poor attempt at dancing in the small space, to crowd him against the corners of the house, and to show the older man all his scars. He wanted that peace and quiet that his mother always seemed to wish for him, that she had wished for herself. He didn’t want a big show of affection, he just wanted… Paul to be there.

Ajay’s breath hitched unpleasantly.

Was he even allowed that? Was he allowed to have Paul?  

The humming hadn’t stopped, and he knew he had to go down to make it stop. To enter literal hell and find the mask, find the Goat. He had to kill it once and for all.

Which may end up meaning he would have to kill himself.

Carefully, he moved as silently as possible and climbed down the ladder to the Goat’s lair. It was unbearably loud, but also familiar. He had spent a long time hunting down the 55 masks, finding the 55 victims, and every time he had found a new reason to keep hunting down the murderer. Whoever, whatever, the Goat was Ajay had formed an obsession around finding and stopping it.

It had been a good distraction between all the lost letters and his father’s journal, which he had feared more than the Goat. But why had he been afraid of written word more than a literal murder? Was if fear of becoming like Robert Barclay or Mohan?   

As his feet met the surface of the Lair, the humming stopped almost immediately.

Looking around, Ajay knew that it was empty, no one had been here since him when he had killed that guard however many months ago. The body is still there, rotting, and clogging Ajay’s senses like the incense from Sabal’s room. The kukri wound on the man’s neck was festering with maggots and he could taste it.

Coughing, his hand came up to his mouth, trying to stop himself from vomiting. He could feel the acid start coating his throat.  

He stood there, leaning against one of the cells, he couldn’t breathe.

Maybe it was because he was crying.

Everything about this was so fucked up. He should have just gone home, he should have never let Paul stay, he should have never left Sabal, he should have never come to Kyrat. He wouldn’t be here in a rotting fucking murder cave if he hadn’t let his guilt get the better of him when his mother asked for her ashes to be spread in Kyrat.

_The truth is that Kyrat was always going to change you._

Sobbing, no choking, Ajay’s arm pressed to his face, a poor attempt at stopping his own tears. He knew that this was a panic attack, but like everything else in his life, he couldn’t stop it.

There was nothing for him here.

He wasn’t going to find anything to fix himself here, instead he was sure he was just splintering off into more pieces of who he thought people wanted or needed. Except, he ended making himself into someone no one wanted.

Who would want him if he didn’t even want himself?

He nearly jumped out of his own skin when something, someone touched his hand and pulled it away from his face.

Paul.

Oh no.

Even more panic filled his body.

The older man sighed, then gestured for Ajay to follow him, didn’t even say a word.

Panic. Panic. Paul had seen the worst part of him, he showed emotion, he wasn’t playing the aloof merciless whatever he had become here. No, he had shown the lost Kyrati boy who had no place to go. Tears refilled his eyes, stinging, and he felt his throat tighten.

Still he followed, obediently, because that’s what a solider is meant to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the time between chapter posting y'all, editing this chapter was a bitch and a half. I spent so much time going back and deleting Ajay's dialogue, because that good boy doesn't speak a whole lot. Also, I have literally never written Sabal in my gosh dang life, so I hope I did well! (ive also been fist deep in Far Cy 5, so you know, that's consumed me)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed Chapter 2 otherwise known as Ajay's Existential Crisis The Movie. 
> 
> Also, I just wanted to reference the Goat, the lost letters, and Mohan's Journal cause that shit fucked me up while I played the game. 
> 
> As always, lemme know what you thought, with kudos, likes, or maybe even a comment because those fuel my garbage producing hands. 
> 
> Next time: Chapter two but told from garbage boy trash man Paul's perspective.


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